Never Too Late
by mollymop-6031
Summary: Rick decided he needs to step in before Carl goes too far down a dark path. Set in the prison following the battle with Woodbury at the end of S3. Warning: Contains CP so don't read if this offends. Reviews welcome :-)


Carl stepped out into the early morning as the familiar sound of car engines made their way along the gravel road leading up to the prison, glad of the hat blocking the low-riding Georgia sunlight from his eyes. He quickened his step on the way to the gate, and his gratitude multiplied when he saw his Dad parking and climbing out of his car, still in one piece, by the looks of it. Both he and Daryl, who exited from the passenger side, looked somewhat subdued, and the kid frowned as he took a minute to take in the whole scene. But as far as he could tell, no one had been left behind. He'd overheard Maggie and Carol doing a headcount before the last party left, because people weren't too keen on surprises these days. His dad, Daryl, Tyreese, Glenn Michonne and Sasha had driven to Woodbury the previous night to remove the threat that the Governor and people of Woodbury posted to their group.

Just as Carl was about to shout out a greeting to his old man, he spied the school bus that was pulling up to park behind his dad's car. As far as he could see through the dirty windows, it seemed to be full of people. That hadn't been part of the plan... Carl felt confused; everything was constantly changing, and he didn't know how to respond, let alone how he was _expected_ to respond to this new development.

Carol and Beth, who had also moved out of the compound, after the arrival of the cars had been announced, were first to arrive beside his dad's pickup truck, and Carl watched as he nodded to them in greeting, before turning his attention to the bus parked behind him. Carl glanced between the adults in confusion as Daryl strode back to the beat-up bus, while Tyreese and a stranger began helping people shuffle off the bus, squeezing shoulders and pointing people in various directions as young and old began to congregate in the prison courtyard.

As he stared in disbelief, he became aware of his dad walking towards him, and turned his confusion and unease towards the older man. Dad had told him he needed to toughen up and become a man, and Carl didn't want to reveal how vulnerable he was feeling in light of everything that had happened. It was hard to 'man up' when he had no clue what exactly was happening around him, and of course nobody offered explanations or anything, so he couldn't help but feel frustrated. He'd heard a saying in school from his 5th grade teacher that 'The best defence is a good offence' and more often than not, that was the approach he took these days. The first time he'd come across death that really concerned him had been when they'd lost Sophia. In retrospect, he knew he had been childishly fooling himself way too long by hoping she'd just been lost. But losing both his mom and Shane had been a real turning point; he'd realised that he couldn't just _hope_ to stay safe, that just wasn't enough. He needed to be proactive; remove threats before they could do damage to those he loved. He had Judy to think about now, after all, and with all the adults leaving, he had no choice but to step up

He turned away from the scene unfolding before them, and suddenly realization dawned on him. This was a hostile invasion. They were opening their doors to strangers. Just like that. Glancing at his dad and lowering his voice he asked bluntly, "What is this?", not bothering to ask if the infallible Rick Grimes was okay. He didn't care if the resentment bled through into his tone; they'd _fought_ for this home so why should they have to share it? How did they even know the Governor's people were to be trusted?

Rick eyed his son for a moment before speaking, trying to gauge his reaction. He'd known Carl wouldn't be sold on the idea, but a part of him had been determined to believe Carl might choose to trust his judgment, or at least hear him out, instead of just getting angry. Still, he couldn't blame his son. He _had_ been training Carl to question his environment and always be on the look-out for possible threats. Letting your guard down got you killed in these circumstances. Eventually he gave his son a small smile and answered simply, "They're goin' to join us."

Carl looked up at him for a moment, looked back at the crowd of misfits, then pursued his lips thoughtfully for a few seconds. Rick followed his gaze back to the group of tired, scared individuals and barely flinched as his son turned on his heel and stormed out. He thought he heard Carl mutter something disrespectful under his breath, but put it to the side of his mind for the moment. These people needed his attention and support right now, and there would be plenty of time to sort out his son's temper later.

Rick caught Glenn's eye as his gaze wandered over the group and blinked in surprise when Glenn looked away awkwardly. _That was strange_. Ever since the week before, when they'd had their "discussion", the younger man had seemed much more settled and amicable. Rick couldn't miss the expression on Glenn's face though and realised he was going to have to figure out what was causing the Korean to feel so uneasy. Later though. For now he had other priorities. If it was really important, the cop knew Glenn would approach him and discuss things openly. Glenn never could keep his feelings hidden particularly well, and he could feel a storm brewing. It was a shame though, as he'd hope the punishment would have a more long-term effect, as in make people talk to him _before_ the proverbial shit hit the fan, but he'd just have to wait and see.

As everyone made their way inside, Rick glanced up at the walkway above their heads and beyond, taking a moment to admire the peace-filled skies ahead. Blue sky surrounded them in every direction, and he took a moment to send a silent prayer up to his deceased wife and former partner. Wherever they were, he hoped they were at peace. He hoped they were proud of him, too, though he knew that might be pushing things a bit right now. He smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks, allowing a bit of the tension in his shoulders to leave him. For the first time in months, he was starting to feel a little like the man in the mirror was beginning to again reflect the Rick Grimes who followed the law and ate doughnuts while talking about the previous night's baseball game.

The past few days had made him realise that he didn't want to be a dictator. This group was his family now and he didn't want to be immune to death; he didn't want to be a cold-blooded killer. Otherwise, his daughter was going to grow up seeing her father and brother killing without a second thought, and that was a world he didn't want her to be part of. He'd seen what power coupled with grief had done to the Governor, and he refused to go down that path any further than he already had, knowing all too well that he may not be able to come back from it. No, it was time to build a real home here and to raise his children right. They were safe now, and they had what they needed to start over.

He sighed in satisfaction, breathing in the clean morning air, then turned towards the prison to go and help out with getting everyone settled. They'd need to fortify the wall down at cell block A since they needed the space, but that shouldn't be too difficult. Rick figured Daryl could head along with him that afternoon to make sure everything was in place. They'd also have to move the food they'd brought from Woodbury to ensure it didn't spoil in the Georgian heat.

Considering the logistics of their increased party size, Rick wandered into the cool shelter of the prison building, feeling hopeful for the future for the first time in a while.

It had been 48 hours since the group had returned from Woodbury and Rick was at his wit's end. His son had remained hostile towards anyone who hadn't been in their group at the prison for the past six months, and even those who _had_ been there frequently felt the brunt of the teen's disgust. Right now, it was important to build new bridges, to work together… and not have little hissy fits. The hair at the back of Rick's neck bristled as he watched Carl all but shoulder his way past Beth, after she offered to take Judith for a while. It made Rick's heart hurt just thinking about it, but it was _because_ Judith didn't have a mother that everyone came together to help. _It takes a village to raise a child_ , and their little community was definitely stronger because of that little diaper-clad miracle.

"Hey, Carl!" Rick called out, trying to keep his voice calm. He didn't want to antagonize his son, but at the same time he didn't want to condone that kind of foul temper, either.

"What?" Carl spat back in annoyance. "If I _don't_ look after her myself, you get pissed, but if I _do_ -"

"Enough with the attitude," Rick growled, growing less patient by the minute. "It's not what you say, but how you say it. - Ring a bell?"

"Whatever," the kid spat back, annoyance oozing from every pore.

"That's enough, Carl. Head to your room, calm down, and don't come back out before you can be civil."

To his chagrin, Carl just stalked off in the opposite direction, taking Judith with him. Rick hadn't wanted to cause a scene, or upset his daughter, so he watched grim-faced as Carl disappeared from the common area. Rick didn't have to look to know people were watching them awkwardly and he didn't have to turn to know Hershel was eyeing the scene with concern. They'd been dancing the same dance for days, if not months, and the Georgian cop had no idea what to do next about his eldest's ongoing rebellion.

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck, reaching for a bottle of water and gulping it down thirstily.

He wasn't surprised when Hershel appeared by his side a few moments later. "Hey, Rick? Do you have a few minutes to spare? I need your help with something."

Rick glanced over at him, somewhat glad for the distraction, but equally worried at the same time. "Is everything alright?"

Hershel smiled knowingly, nodding. "I'm fine. Leave the gun behind, you won't need it."

That set alarms off in the younger man's mind. "I'll keep it, if it's all the same to you."

"You don't need it," Hershel insisted with a sigh, meeting Rick's eye. "It'll just get in the way."

Rick was dimly aware of a few pairs of eyes on them, and took a deep breath, nodding in acceptance before he uneasily removed his gun belt. He trusted Hershel's judgement more than almost anyone else's in their group, but it didn't mean he had to like this twist in events. He felt naked without his small revolver hanging by his right hip, and hoped this chore wouldn't take long, so he could go back and retrieve his weapons. He followed the old vet through the corridors of the prison and out into the humid Georgian sun. Sweat beaded on his skin almost as soon as they arrived outdoors.

For the few minutes it took to arrive at their destination, neither man spoke, content to enjoy the sunlight on their faces and the gentle breeze flowing in from the south. Hershel didn't appear to be in any hurry to explain why he'd asked Rick to join him, so the ex-cop contented himself with glancing along the treeline, trying not to think about all the jobs he wanted - no, _needed_ he reminded himself - to get done that day. The arrival of the new members of their party had showed Rick and his family that they needed to find more supplies, and they needed to build up their stock of food and water somehow. They'd exhausted a load of places nearby on runs and he wasn't sure how they were going to find new places to try out without sending recon groups out a lot further than he was really comfortable with.

He wandered across the grass lawn of the prison grounds with Hershel in companionable silence, knowing from experience that the older man would speak when he was ready to. The former cop didn't really know why they were putting quite so much distance between themselves and the group, but was sure the other man knew what he was doing. It took a few minutes, but eventually Hershel's voice sounded beside him. "We need to do something about supplies, if we want to feed all these new mouths."

Rick shrugged, gazing out over the grounds thoughtfully. "I know. I'm working on it. We brought food from Woodbury and vehicles. We'll set up some kind of rotations for going on supply runs. Daryl can teach people to hunt, we'll get by…"

He trailed off uncertainly in surprise when Hershel leaned over on his crutches towards the ground, holding up a packet of seeds.

"What…?" Rick trailed off, face clearly expressing his bewilderment.

"Seeds," Hershel explained patiently. "We can sustain ourselves right here with a little work. This place could become a home, Rick. We can thrive. We don't need guns and ammo all the time, we can make this work."

"But we don't have anyone to take over a vegetable garden. None of us are farmers, not anymore…" he added the last as an afterthought, remembering belatedly that that was _exactly_ what Hershel had been doing before this mess started.

Hershel gave him a smile, nodding in agreement. "That might be true, but I've thought about it. I teach you and you teach Carl. And I'm saying it, even though you won't like it. Pull him back from the fences. He shot that boy in cold blood."

Rick sighed, pushing sweat-drenched curls from his forehead. "I know." Of course Hershel knew his life wasn't as simple as 'just' taking up farming. Hershel was here to help him raise something other than vegetables, too. It scared him to admit it, but he'd known when he looked into Carl's eyes a few days ago that Hershel's words were accurate. The way Carl had shot the other teenager had been just that - an execution. Yet, Carl had just shrugged it off, like he had been dealing with a Walker, not somebody who was still very much alive. Everyone had been shocked to hear just how casual his son had been about it, and Rick knew the older man was right, something had to be done about the kid's attitude. He just didn't know how he could pull his son back and not let him wander down that dark path.

Hershel gave him a few moments to think before continuing quietly, "He needs you to pull him back. He needs his father to show him the way. What's his life going to be like? What's yours? I'm just saying everything because I owe you. We all owe you. We can make this better now."

"Things changing in here don't make things better out there."

"No, it doesn't. But it's a start."

Rick and Hershel looked out toward the yard as they heard Daryl's motorcycle engine start to rev up.

"There's a run soon, I gotta go," RIck said, relieved to be able to avoid Hershel's concerns for a little while longer.

"No, you don't," Hershel replied forcefully. Hershel may have been old, but he wasn't an old fool. He knew the routine, who did what and when. And he knew fine well that Rick wouldn't be going on this particular run; there was too much to be organised at the prison for their leader to take off now. He wasn't going to let Rick off that easily, not when Carl was at a critical turning point in his still impressionable life. This moment could harden him forever if they didn't reach him in time.

Rick turned back to meet Hershel's serious gaze, standing up straighter instinctively. He knew that Hershel was right, but the truth was he didn't know how to draw Carl back towards him. He was scared of failing his eldest and knew he was already walking a fine line, especially since his breakdown following Lori's death. Carl had done what he wasn't sure he could have in that position. Carl had shot his mother in the head right after she gave birth, so of course the kid wasn't okay.

With most members of their group -new and old-, Rick could easily stand his ground without questioning himself, but with Hershel it was different. Hershel had more life experience than Rick and he certainly didn't cow easy. He didn't just dish out advice like some know-it-alls; when Hershel spoke, you knew he'd thought things over in his head, and you were probably better off heeding what he had to say, too. He was also unbelievably patient, and he was one of the few people who could reason things out even better than the ex-cop could.

Daryl's engine revved again as he watched them from a few metres away, prompting Rick to step back and sigh. "I need time to think about it." He compromised quietly, hoping Hershel would accept the olive branch for what it was. Rick didn't make empty promises, but he liked to think he could be open-minded and he would at least consider Hershel's concerns before dismissing them. Pride wouldn't let him shy away, which both men knew perfectly well. Hershel gave a small nod of understanding, knowing that was the best he would get out of the younger man right now. He was worried about Carl, but he knew his father wanted the best for him and would do everything he could to keep the kid safe, even from himself.

A couple of days later, Rick had given himself enough time to consider Hershel's words, carefully, and had come to the conclusion the older man was right. He wasn't convinced the vet's methods would work, but he did appreciate the idea behind the farming lessons. He'd found the manual labour surprisingly therapeutic earlier that afternoon and was hopeful his almost 14-year-old would find the same satisfaction in the task as he himself had.

He'd been out gardening for just over an hour now but he was realizing he could happily stay out here for hours; planting the seeds Hershel had given him would be fun with Carl by his side. Right now, he was using a spade to dig a small patch of land to turn into a vegetable plot that they could grow fruit and veg on and suddenly the world held more promise than it had in months.

The sun beat mercilessly down on him, and he paused to try and push his sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes with his upper arm. He really needed to cut the curls soon; they were becoming a pain, he noted with a grimace. He paused to brush the upturned mud covering his hands off on his pants legs, bending down to pick up his bottle of water from its location under the shirt he'd stripped off and dropped on the ground fifteen minutes before. It wasn't a perfect solution but the shade the material created provided a little bit of protection against the sun's heat and Rick appreciated any option that slowed down the water's ability to become tepid.

He gulped down water, leaning on the spade as it stood straight in the tilled ground, scanning the area around him. Walkers wandered the grass beyond the prison gate, oblivious to the living taking refuge from them behind the metal fences. Rick still found it strange being surrounded by silence instead of birdsong when he was outdoors. In fact, he mused, it was strange not seeing or hearing animals wandering around and making noise when before shit hit the fan there had been wildlife, and pets, _everywhere_ in Georgia. But maybe the new crops would attract some wildlife. Time would tell.

Rick stood silently for a while thinking about everything that had happened over the past few months and their implications on their group and, more importantly, his young family. Hershel had been right when he said that someone needed to step in and stop Carl before his rebellion stretched too far. No, Rick corrected himself, not someone but him. He might not want to acknowledge it sometimes but he was Carl's father, and Judith's. He needed to step up and find a way to bring his family back together before they fell apart permanently.

The Georgian cop didn't really understand why the farming techniques Hershel had shown him hours before were working, or why they were so therapeutic, but he was starting to think that Carl could learn from them, and could learn to enjoy the pace of tending a small plot of land. The responsibility of providing for their recently acquired family and helping Rick in a one-on-one setting might help disperse some of Carl's building resentment and draw his mind away from constant strategizing and defensive planning.

It had to be worth a shot, Rick decided deep down. He nodded once to himself and tugged the shovel out of the ground, returning to work with a renewed vigour. He'd put in another half hour, shower and then go and find Carl and show him their new project.

A couple of hours later, Rick stepped out of the shower block in a change of clothes, feeling much better. He'd need to get this shirt washed since clothing was in short supply at the prison, but he could do that later. Right now he knew Carl was the priority, and he felt enthusiastic and energised enough to approach his boy. It took him a few minutes to establish where he could find Carl, but eventually Tyreese was able to point him towards cell block C.

With a nod of thanks he made his way to the cell block where Beth was keeping an eye on Carl and Judith. He reached out to squeeze his daughter's foot gently and turned towards the room, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Patrick, one of the young teens from Woodbury who Carl had become friendly with, playing with an assortment of Lego blocks Rick had brought back for his son on a run. Of course, he mused, Carl was sat at a table across the room cleaning and assembling guns.

"Hey Patrick," the leader greeted, offering the boy a smile and trying to ignore the fact Carl hadn't acknowledged him.

"Hi, Mr Grimes. Thanks for picking up these!"

Rick gesture towards his son, shrugging. "I thought Carl might want 'em."

Patrick glanced down awkwardly. "Uh, they were just sitting there. I… I figured it had been a while. I'm not ashamed that they're for ages 4 to 12."

Rick gave the boy a smile, noting - not for the first time - how much more mature Carl was in comparison to his friend. "You shouldn't be," He offered kindly in response.

He patted Patrick's shoulder fondly then made his way over to where Carl sat submersed in the task at hand.

"Hey," Rick greeted quietly, placing the thin jacket he held loosely in one hand on the table and resting his now free hand on his left hip.

"Hey," was all the kid had to say by way of greeting.

Rick watched Carl for moment, hoping the kid might actually show some manners and look at him. Realizing the boy was too focused on his gun to acknowledge him, Rick turned to share a glance with Beth, frowning in disbelief when she glanced down at Judith's blonde head awkwardly.

"Carl?" he prompted, tilting his head thoughtfully as he waited to see how the boy responded.

"Yes?" Carl asked in response without looking up.

"Carl." Rick repeated, a little louder this time, relieved when the teen stopped what he was doing and looked up at him silently.

Carl eyes him seriously, a clear and impatient 'What?' written all over his face.

"I need your help with something." Rick said in a secretive tone, gesturing for Carl to come.

Carl nodded and pushed away from the table, picking up his gun like it was the most natural thing in the world. Rick shook his head at the action, ignoring the onlookers watching them curiously. "Leave it behind," he instructed quietly.

Carl stopped, looking up at him in confusion. "What?"

In answer, Rick removed his own gun belt and ammo and carefully placed them on the table beside his coat, away from the their audience. "It'll just get in the way," he explained simply, reaching out to gently take Carl's gun and place it next to his own.

Rick could tell by the way his kid's boots hit the concrete floor that he wasn't happy about being dragged away. But two could play that game, and instead of talking and letting the kid know by-and-by what was in store for him, he just let him stew in his own juices for a bit. He was getting sick of the attitude anyway.

Rick had been planning to take Carl outside and show him the plot of land he and Hershel had started to get ready, but he knew they wouldn't make any _real_ progress if they didn't address whatever the hell was going on in Carl's still impressionable mind now. Rick didn't particularly _want_ to confront his son, and especially not in the way Hershel had suggested earlier, but he really was fed up of all the disrespectful backchat and something had to give here, and soon.

The older Grimes debated his small list of options for a moment, eventually coming to a decision. He knew this discussion wouldn't be pleasant for either of them - regardless of what happened in the end - and was aware they'd need some privacy. When he'd disciplined Glenn a couple of weeks previously, he'd opted for the boiler room because it was quiet and out the way and as a whole nobody went down there unless they really needed to, or Rick Grimes summoned them there.

Mind made up, Rick took a turn and led them towards the stairs, waiting until they were - hopefully - out of earshot, before attempting to broach the subject that had been on his mind for days. "Listen, kid, we gotta talk," Rick said finally, not really wanting to have the conversation, but knowing there was no way around it either.

"About what?" Carl sassed back. "You've already decide everything, so what's the fucking point in talking about it?"

Rick could feel his palm itch, but managed to control his own temper, deciding to lead by example. "About this," he said, stopping dead and pointing a finger at Carl's chest so that Carl had no choice but to stop and pay attention to him. "Your attitude. The way you talk to me. Whatever the hell's going on in your head...,"

"Ugh," Carl groaned in contempt. "Just get it over with then; I've got better things to do with my time."

Rick had a hard time suppressing an eye-roll of his own, but instead diverted his energy into grabbing his boy by the shoulder, forcing his son to focus his attention on him.

"Look at me, Carl. Look at me." Rick waited until his son's blue eyes met his own in a piercing stare. "How do you think your mom would feel if she knew you were _shooting_ kids your own age? Without reason? Carl, she would despise that kind of behaviour from you. Hell, she'd _hate_ to see either of us being so violent and angry."

"Yeah, well, Mom made a lot of mistakes…"

Rick's hand clamped down on his son's shoulder, giving it a sharp squeeze that made Carl grimace and glance away angrily. "Don't you talk about her like that. Yes, she made mistakes, but so have I and so have you. And she's still your Mom, no matter what. You show a little respect."

"Like she did?"

Rick cocked his head to one side, eyeing his son in disbelief. "You really hate her that much, huh? She brought Judith into this world, and she kept you safe when I wasn't around. She _loved_ you Carl."

"Shane kept us safe. Not _her_."

Rick sighed, stepping back and pinching the bridge of his nose to try to stay the frustration starting to build. He turned back to Carl, meeting his son's stare head on. If it was a battle of wills Carl wanted, a battle was what he would get. "You remember what I told you back at the farm?"

Carl blinked in confusion. "What…?"

"About not speaking until _after_ you've had a think about your words? Seems like lately you've been doing a lot of talking and not much thinking."

Carl grimaced. How the _hell_ could he forget that conversation? It was the first time his dad had ever spoken to him that harshly. Until that point, his father had always seemed so patient and understanding; even when the teen had been in trouble before the shootout that had led to a three week coma, his dad had taken time to speak to him and given him space and time to process the situations they found themselves in. Carl _missed_ his dad having time to spend with him one on one. The older man was always so busy these days, and even when he wasn't, he always seemed so tense and frustrated...

Trying to play off his confusion for irritation, Carl rolled his eyes, but Rick recognised the tell-tale blush creeping up his son's neck that usually meant Carl was feeling guilty or embarrassed. He held his son's gaze silently until Carl shrugged and looked away, staring at a spot on the floor stubbornly.

They stood in silence for a couple of minutes until Rick realized the teen was clamming up and withdrawing. "Hey, don't do that. Don't shut down on me," he said, reaching out to cup his son's cheek gently.

Carl pulled away, scowling, and threw his hands up in frustration. "What the hell do you want from me then?! Either you iwant/i me to talk about what I'm feeling or _you_ _don't_. You can't have it _both_ _ways_!"

Rick could feel his patience slipping again, but valiantly kept a grip on it, relieved to see Carl _finally_ showing _some_ kind of emotion. His son had been so cold and unemotional the past few months that Rick would take a shouting match if it meant getting the teen to open up so they could start afresh and find some semblance of normality in this life they were forced to accept and make the best of. That said, Rick really didn't want to make a scene with so many people still pretty close, but he couldn't jump every hurdle he came across.

Steeling himself for the upcoming battle, Rick nodded thoughtfully. "That's true. Talk to me, Carl. Let me inside that head of yours."

"But you just _said_..."

"I know what I said. I stand by what I said, because it _is_ a good rule of thumb in life. Right now though, I need you to _talk_ to me. We can't go on like this Carl."

Silence met his statement. Rick didn't mind. He watched his son's movements carefully, able to tell from experience that his son's temper was going to explode before too long. Before Carl could completely lose his cool, Rick stood a little straighter, beckoning his son to follow. "Come with me. This is between us, not the whole group. Let's find somewhere quieter."

That seemed to appease Carl, who nodded once in acknowledgement and picked up his pace to keep time with his father. His legs were getting longer by the day and Rick was convinced Carl would outgrow him within the next couple of years. Kid was going to be a beanpole when he got older, the ex-cop mused. He wanted to stop and ruffle his boy's hair, or sling an arm over his shoulder, but he knew Carl wouldn't like that display of 'weakness'. The teen hated looking like a kid, especially when others were around to witness it. There were occasional moments in the privacy of their living area where Carl showed glimpses of the kind, funny, respectful child Rick had known before he'd been sent into a three week coma a couple of years before, but that was happening less and less frequently these days.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, eventually arriving downstairs and through the maze of corridors separating the boiler room from the communal area everyone tended to congregate in. Rick had barely closed the door before Carl had turned on him with fists clenched and a scowl on his face. Rick did what he did best, falling back on his police training as his son went on the offensive.

"Hey now, easy…" He soothed, holding up a hand placatingly. "Talk to me, Carl. We'll figure this out together."

"There's nothing to figure out." The words were spoken so vehemently that Rick almost took a step back. His stronger reaction was to lash out at his disrespectful teenager in response, but he knew he couldn't do that if he wanted to make progress here. Rick took a moment to consider Carl's demeanour; the quiet words, the hunch of his shoulders and the scowl on his face trying to mask the hurt bubbling beneath the surface. Carl missed his mom too, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. Rick could still feel temper simmering under the surface but kept a tight hold of it. He'd wanted Carl to _communicate_ him, he couldn't very well shout at him for doing just that _even_ if it wasn't the form of conversation he'd been hoping for.

Determined, the older man hooked his thumbs in his worn leather belt and leaned back against a nearby wall, hoping a more casual approach might encourage Carl to open up more easily. It hadn't escaped the cop's notice that Carl seemed to settle with Daryl and his laidback approach these days. He made sure to keep his tone calm and non-confrontational. "Hey, now. That's not true. We haven't talked in far too long, and I'm sorry about that, Carl. I should have done this sooner. We can't go on not talking because that's what led us here."

Carl rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his narrow chest. "You already said we haven't talked in forever. Why bother now?"

Rick bit back a sigh. This was going to be harder than he'd hoped. "Try me," he suggested, forcing himself to remain calm and relaxed. "It's never too late to change things, Carl."

"It was for Mom, and Shane. Don't you get it? We can't just keep believing everything's fine. It isn't fine, _Dad_. We have to protect ourselves. We have to stop people like the Governor or they'll take us down. You think I'm too tough or whatever? Fine. You told me to be tough. If you're too weak to take down the bad guys then I will. _I'll_ protect Judith; I couldn't save Mom or Shane and neither could you, but I can save my sister."

Carl was breathing hard by the time he finished his speech and for a moment Rick was speechless. He couldn't argue with his son's sentiment; he felt the guilt of Shane and Lori's death every day and nothing took away from that. He could understand Carl's need to protect Judith, especially now that Lori was gone. Sometimes it felt like the baby was all they had left of her Mom. Still, even if he _could_ relate to what his boy was feeling, he _couldn't_ let that act as an excuse for his attitude recently. Rick considered his options. He wasn't sure what the hell he planned to do about Carl's attitude but something had to give. Even now, as they discussed everything that was changing around them, Carl was being confrontational, his responses bordering on rude.

"Carl," Rick began quietly, pausing to consider his response a moment longer before continuing. "I'm gonna protect her too. We'll keep her safe. _Together_. Everyone here loves Judith. This prison is safe. Things are gonna work out now, we don't need to kill first and ask questions later."

"Yes we do. We need to be alert. We need to attack before anyone hurts us."

"No, we don't. I know I told you that you had to be prepared, that you gotta be able to fight. You do need to be ready, son. But you also need to keep some humanity in all this, Carl. We're no better than those Walkers if we don't find reason to hope and show compassion. You gotta understand that." Rick sighed, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "That kid was just a boy. He was a teenager, just like you. He was just carrying out orders, he didn't want to kill anyone and he sure didn't want to die. You can't just shoot anyone who looks at you wrong, verbally _or_ physically."

"Whatever." Carl shot back, rolling his eyes.

Rick frowned, standing up straighter. Carl _knew_ how much he hated that damned word. Not many things could get the eldest Grimes' back up like a disrespectful 'whatever'. Carl had been tossing out words like that with increasing frequency and Rick was fed up with it. "You want to try that again, Carl Grimes?"

"You heard me." Carl spat back, returning the wide legged posture with a daring glower.

"Oh, I heard you. I just thought you might be smart enough to change it when I gave you the chance. I get that I'm not your favourite person right now, and I get that it's gonna take me a while to set that right, but I will not be spoken to like this. Your mom and I raised you better than this and I'm done letting you act this way. This attitude is gonna stop, one way or another. Do you understand me?"

Silence greeted his statement. Rick closed the distance between them, resting his hands heavily on his son's shoulders and leaning down to meet his son's eyes seriously. "I said, do you understand me Carl." He repeated quietly, waiting patiently for an answer.

Carl was stubborn, especially now that his body was balancing a host of hormones he wasn't used to, but nobody could match Rick Grimes' stubborn streak. Once the cop got an idea in his head it was near enough impossible to sway him. Carl knew that from many scenarios just like this one where he'd tried - and failed - to outwait his father. It _never_ worked. It took a few minutes of emotions warring across the young teen's face, but eventually Carl swallowed, gaze dropping to the floor, and mumbled a quiet acknowledgement.

Rick nodded, raising one hand up to cup his son's cheek for a second. "Right. I think it's time we put a stop to all this resentment and disrespect so that we can move on to something nicer, for both of us. I still need your help with that something and I need daylight for it."

Carl looked at him in confusion. "What…?"

"You'll see."

The teen shrugged, looking around the room curiously. "Alright. So what you gonna do? Make me sit down here until I magically have a change of heart?"

Rick rolled his eyes, offering his son raised eyebrows that made the boy blush. "Not quite. I got something else in mind. I've tried talking to you and giving you space for years, but we both know that ain't working now. This world is too dangerous for stuff and things dragging on between people. This… You'll hate it. Hell, your mom would hate it, but it's quick and I've seen it work."

"Dad, what are you talking about?"

Rick met his son's eyes with a hard glare. "I'm going to spank you."

Carl blinked for a moment, mouth opening and closing dumbly, before his own expression turned stormy. He pulled back, fists clenching all over again. "What? No fucking way!"

"Don't you speak to me like that, Carl. This is happening. Fight me all you want, but I'm in charge here and you won't win. This right here shows me this needs to happen, because right now I can't trust you to act like an adult."

"You cuss all the time!"

"Not at people. Besides, we ain't talking about me here. Cut it out. You want to cuss and be treated like an adult? You act like one then. You earn those rights and privileges. Right now, all I see is a boy acting like a spoilt brat who needs a little guidance to help him get back on track."

Finished arguing, Rick decided it was time to hurry up and just do this now that he'd impulsively announced it as his solution. He already want to backtrack but he'd always prided himself on being a man of his word and he didn't plan to change that now, comfort be damned.

There were no windows in the small boiler room and the stuffy Georgian heat clung to them both heavily. Rick glanced around the room thoughtfully for a second; he didn't want to make it obvious how out of his depth he was feeling and was also aware that he needed to do this right. If he didn't get through to Carl then this could make things a hell of a lot worse.

Eventually his eyes settled on a stool sat in the corner and he nodded to himself, silently moving over to pick it up and bringing it back towards Carl. He placed it down firmly on the concrete floor and looked to his son pointedly. "Alright, c'mon."

"No. Dad, I'm not… No."

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose for a second, counting to ten in his head. Sometimes he really wished he and Lori hadn't raised Carl to be so independent and headstrong. "Carl. Enough. I'm not playing games here. Don't make me come get you or it'll be worse."

Rick gave his son a couple of moments to move, biting back a sigh when silence stretched out between them. "Alright then," he muttered to himself eventually, taking charge of the situation instinctively. He was not arguing with a thirteen-year-old, reasoning be damned. Carl grunted in surprise when his dad appeared by his side, one strong hand clamping down on his slim bicep, half dragging him towards the stool a few metres away. Carl dug his heels in and tried to pull away but his Dad was strong and had the element of surprise on his side.

Before he could process what was happening, his dad had sat down on the metal stool and he found himself bent over his Dad's sturdy left knee. He knew his dad was ambidextrous but often used his right hand over his left and right now that left him unsure what to expect from the older man. He didn't want to admit it but Dad was solid and steady and reassuring despite his embarrassing predicament and Carl almost relaxed into the familiarity of being close to his father. Instead he opted to kick and try to push himself back up, fists clenched.

Rick kept a firm hold on his shirt as he tried to get up, shaking his head at the kid's sweaty hair. "Settle down," he warned sternly. "I mean it."

The room was quiet following the sharp slap that resounded around the small boiler room. Carl tensed, holding his breath as he tried to process what had just happened. Another landed on his left cheek and he grimaced, scowling down at the floor. Had his dad even closed the door? He couldn't remember. He must have yelled because the next thing he noticed was Dad talking patiently above his head.

"Yes, I closed the door. This is between us, Carl. I hope you're thinking about why we're here."

"Because you're a jerk!" Carl shot back angrily, trying again to lever himself up.

Rick sighed. This wasn't going quite how he'd hoped. He took a calming breath while simultaneously swinging his free leg over his son's kicking ones, effectively pinning him in place. He leaned down so he could speak to his son quietly, letting a bit of a growl into his voice as he warned the boy to stop all the theatrics and think about why he was in the position he was in. Rick seemed to finally get through to him and Carl lapsed into a tense, stubborn silence.

It wasn't ideal but it was a start. Rick turned his focus to landed even, heavy spanks to Carl's backside for the next few minutes. The teenager's jeans hurt his hand though and with how stubborn both Grimes' men could be, Rick knew he'd end up feeling this more than the kid in no time.

He paused his task in order to focus on unbuttoning his son's jeans and tugging them down his slender hips, leaving him with just his boxers for protection. Carl huffed, swearing and trying to reach back to grab onto any part of the denim waistband that his dad was holding onto. He managed to catch one end of his belt and held on tight, trembling in anger at being embarrassed like this.

"Carl, let go." Rick warned patiently, using what Carl had dubbed his 'cop voice' over the years.

"No! You can't do this! Shane would never have done this to me!"

Rick rolled his eyes. "Sure he would. Hell, there were a few times he thought I should be doing this. Now, let go and quite being a brat. Unless you want me to take that belt to your backside when I'm through with my hand? No? Then let go. _Now_."

Carl was quiet below him, clearly considering his options. He had no doubt the boy's backside had to be smarting by now and knew Carl was probably starting to realize his options were limited. Eventually he grudgingly released the leather, placing both hands on the rung of the stool in what Rick recognised was an attempt to calm himself down.

The cop made a point of patting Carl's back in approval before resting his left arm on it more firmly again. "That was a smart choice. Thank you."

Carl shrugged but otherwise didn't react. Rick was impressed by his son's silence but equally could feel himself getting annoyed. Maybe he could use something a little harder than his hand after all, he mused. By the time another few minutes had passed, his hand was ireally/i starting to hurt. Carl seemed to be largely unaffected and Rick wasn't sure what to try now. He really needed to get through to his thick skulled boy and fast. They couldn't afford to be arguing for the sake of it, not with stakes as high as they were these days; if Rick didn't find a way to solve this then Carl could end up dead. Rick Grimes was a brave man, but he knew he wasn't brave enough to put down Carl if his boy ever became a Walker. Carl was his Achilles' heel and Rick knew it. He couldn't risk this feud continuing any longer.

He didn't want to come down hard on his boy, but it was a fact that Carl's attitude since leaving the Greene farm had grown increasingly worse and in the midst of Rick's absent father routine his son had become immune to his disapproval.

While Rick didn't _want_ to hurt the already wounded teenager, he was aware that whenever he'd done this to other members in their group on the road, he'd used his belt. It was a faster way to make an impression and it sure as hell clearer the air a little faster than this. Rick promised himself that if he had to do this in future, he'd try to avoid using the worn leather around his waist on the kid; circumstances didn't really grant him luxuries like that often.

Silence filled the room when he stopped spanking for a moment, eager to see if they'd made enough progress for him not to up his game. He became aware that Carl was holding his breath and blinked in surprise. Maybe it was making a difference after all. "Carl?"

"What?"

It was snapped out through gritted teeth and earned the teen's sit spots a hard thwack in response. Carl arched up, hissing despite his best intentions. "Remember what I said, Carl. Think before you speak. You wanna try that again?"

Rick nearly chuckled when Carl tried to kick at the floor petulantly, looking the most childlike he had in months. "Let me up! Damn it! I need to check on Judith!"

"Beth has Judith. She's safe." Rick promised patiently. Carl ignored him, desperately trying to squirm out of Rick's strong hold. "You're not going anywhere until we're done here, son. We clear?"

"No! I fucking _hate_ you!"

Rick froze for a moment, glancing at the back of Carl's head with dread. Those words were words parents didn't want to hear, but it was usually inevitably spoken in the heat of the moment. The thing was, he didn't know if Carl really meant those words. Before the world had gone to hell, Carl had been a good boy who rarely got himself into trouble with Rick or Lori. Sure, he could be a bit of a brat, but every kid was like that. Rick knew he'd been a bit distant in the days before the shoot out; the job weighed heavily on his shoulders and he bore the pain of cases gone wrong closely. He knew Lori resented him for that at times, especially when he'd been coming home so late and leaving so early. He'd never had arguments with Carl though; their time together had always been precious before all this happened. If the teen had said this two years ago, Rick wouldn't have been worried. Today he knew it was something they needed to talk about because if those feelings were genuine he needed to come up with a solution before the resentment built further. That was a concern for after they'd finished here though. Right now, he needed to be consistent and dole out the discipline he'd promised his boy.

With that in mind, Rick reached down bit his stinging right palm to unfasten his own belt. When Carl heard the clink of the buckle coming undone, he bucked under Rick's right thigh, head shaking desperately. Rick sighed to himself, having to put his focus on keeping the teen bent over his lap for a few moments. "Carl, that's enough. What did I tell you five minutes ago, huh?"

"But Dad…"

"What did I say?" Rick asked again pointedly, patience gone like the wind.

Carl audibly gulped below him. "To stop it or you'd hit me with that thing…"

"We both know this is different, son. I'm spanking you. Maybe I should've done this a lot sooner, it might have saved us a lot of trouble back at the farm. I told you to settle down and I warned you what I'd do if you didn't. Actions have consequences, Carl."

Deciding to act before he could change his mind, Rick slid his belt out of his loops with one hand, his free hand resting on Carl's back in an attempt at reassurance. Once the belt was folded over with the buckle safely tucked inside his hand, Rick spoke again. "Carl, I don't know if what you said there was true, but I know I've failed you recently as your Dad. Things with your Mom and Shane turned ugly and you lost a mentor and a mother. You've been left to care for Judith 'cause I've been too wrapped up in my own pain and in being the leader of this group. You and Judith deserve better from me and I promise you, I will remedy that. I know I need to earn your trust back, and I will. I love you and I only want to keep you safe, to keep _all_ of my family safe. You can be mad at me, but you need to handle that anger better. You can't just lose your temper or hurt people when you're upset. You need to think about what you're saying and doing more and you need to show a little more respect to your elders. They guide you and give you rules and tips because they love you. Have a think about that."

With that, Rick brought the belt down with a sharp snap. Carl jumped over his lap, shocked by the noise and the delayed sting that followed. The cop could tell the teen was trying hard to not show how affected he was with decreasing success. He was glad he hadn't decided on a set number out loud because the difference in his son's demeanor was already considerable after three stripes to his backside. He was surprised when Carl's hand reached back, expecting more resistance, but instead the teen tried to grasp the hand resting firmly on his back. Rick easily accommodated the small gesture, relieved, and kept going.

Quiet tears soon followed and Rick decided that was his moment to finish up. He'd dished out half a dozen so far and was keen to get it over with quickly. It took a lot for Carl to cry so the elder Grimes knew he didn't need to continue to hysterics. Steeling himself, he pushed his son a little further forward, bringing his belt down against the teenager's sit spots for the last four with a little more force. When he was done, he gave Carl's hand a small squeeze, letting him know it was over.

Carl felt himself sag in relief when his Dad stopped spanking him. That had been shit. He was still mad but was surprised to realise he also felt more settled than he had in months. How could you even feel more settled while being most distressed? Fucking stupid…

The ordeal had been exhausting and Carl gave in to the tears that had been lurking beneath the surface of his psyche for months. He was barely aware of his father's hand on his back, resting there in a sign of forgiveness and support; all he could focus on was the tears and what he'd lost in the last year. This new world was terrifying and sometimes Carl didn't want to be strong anymore. His dad, the others… They _needed_ him to be strong and help out but sometimes he wanted to be a teenager with normal problems; whether he could skip curfew or if his crush fancied him, not where his next meal would come from or if his gun was loaded. This life had been hard to adjust to for all of them.

The boiler room was quiet, sunlight streaming in through the small window across the room, and Rick was glad that they were so far away from everyone. Carl had gone quiet over his knee, apparently void of tears now. They'd been here a while but Rick hadn't wanted to interrupt his son's emotional release. Too much had been bubbling under the surface for too long and this wasn't a scenario the Georgian wanted to repeat any time soon; he didn't think he'd be the only one either.

Biting back a sigh, Rick patted the teen's back. "You ready to get up, son?"

Carl nodded below him, so the eldest Grimes helped his slim boy upright. Carl reached down to fix his clothes, blushing, then stood awkwardly and avoided his dad's eyes. Rick wasn't used to seeing him fidget so much and almost smiled as memories of Carl's early childhood came to mind. He shook his head to clear them, giving his son a second to compose himself before standing and reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "Alright now, am I going to see a change in that attitude of yours?"

"Mhmm…"

"Carl."

"I'll try..."

Rick did smile then, letting it light up his face all the way to his eyes. Carl returned the smile shyly surprised to see so much emotion on his role model's face. "That's what I'm asking for. And Carl? I meant what I said. I am going to do better, for you and for Judith, and everyone else here. We're family and I'm sorry I let this go on so long. Can you forgive me?"

Carl's answer surprised him; instead of speaking, the teen stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his Dad's waist. It took a second to realise what was happening, but Rick eagerly returned the hug, holding Carl close. He reached up to run a hand through his son's hair, savouring the feel of Carl's affection after so long being distant from one another.

"Love you Dad…" Carl whispered, sniffing. Apparently Rick wasn't the only one who'd secretly missed this. They had a long way to go, he thought sadly, but this was a start.

Ruck gave him a squeeze. "I love you, Carl. C'mon, I still need your help with that thing… if you still want to help…?"

Carl looked up at him curiously. "What is it?"

Rick smiled, earlier excitement flaring up again at the curiosity he saw painted on Carl's face. "You'll see. We'll go past the toilets so you can wash your face then I'll show you."

Carl nodded, blushing at the reminder of what had just happened, but let his dad keep a hand on his shoulder as they headed upstairs. He wasn't sure if he believed that things could really get better between him and his dad, but he sure hoped so. Dad was his anchor in the middle of this storm.

"There you go, Judith…" Beth soothed, cuddling the baby closer to her chest as she walked out from the dingy prison building into bright sunlight to join her father and the Grimes' men where they dug at the plot of land near the Tarmac that housed the group's small assortment of vehicles. "There you go…"

Rick glanced up at the infant, noticing as he did that Carl was struggling. "Put it in at an angle," He suggested, moving over to help the teen out. Carl did as instructed, frowning when his dad's cowboy hat slipped from his head to the ground. He shared a look with his dad, returning the older man's smile with an uncertain one of his own, and watched as Rick picked it up and brushed the dirt on the brim away with his pants leg.

Rick tilted his head to one side thoughtfully, "Gonna have to get you a farming hat," he decided after a moment, turning to drop his old sheriff's hat on Beth's head. "There's a new sheriff in town."

Laughter greeted his statement, earning a rare grin from the ex-cop. The sound was music to his ears after all the tension of the past few weeks and he found himself thriving on the contentment he saw on the group in front of him's faces.

"It could be like this all the time," Hershel declared, meeting Rick's gaze earnestly with hope in his eyes.

"It's like this now," Rick countered, nodding in satisfaction. "That's enough."


End file.
